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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459760">Games and Prizes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northernsociety/pseuds/Northernsociety'>Northernsociety</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Era, Caring George Washington, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Cute Alexander Hamilton, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Power Dynamics, Pre-Relationship, Secret Crush, Surprise Kissing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:29:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459760</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northernsociety/pseuds/Northernsociety</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘There’s nothing else, sir?’</p><p>‘What else could there possibly be? We have finished the urgent work for today. The rest will keep until morning. Unless…’</p><p>Washington lets the word hang in the air for endless moments, allowing Hamilton to interpret, analyse and translate in a thousand different ways. He waits until it settles into place, Hamilton involuntarily conveying his comprehension with an expectant lick of his lips. Washington waits a moment longer, waiting for the heat to truly build, before he yanks Hamilton to his feet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/George Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Games and Prizes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Washington stops in the doorway, hoping the silhouette he casts is as impressive and as imposing as he imagines it to be. The light behind him in the hallway must surely frame him in a dramatic glow worthy of admiration. He notices the flicker of Hamilton’s eyes and the briefest pause in the fluid movements of his quill, but he appears otherwise unmoved by this brazen display.</p><p>The scratching of the quill cuts through the heavy silence that has draped itself all over headquarters – empty except for Washington and Hamilton, sequestered away in Washington’s private quarters to attend to urgent business late into the night. And it <em>is</em> late – the sun has long since sunk below the horizon, yielding to the darkness and giving way to a full moon.</p><p>‘Are you nearly finished, Hamilton?’</p><p>He should not be consumed by a hunger for his chief of staff’s regard, but he burns to see the flash of want in Hamilton’s eyes that he is so sure the boy will be unable to conceal. He is desperate for a scrap of the boy’s attention – a perverse reversal of roles, he is aware.</p><p>‘Almost, sir,’ replies Hamilton, still not looking up from his task. ‘Perhaps you’d like to read it?’</p><p>Washington crosses the room, deliberately slow in his movements as he rounds the desk to stand behind Hamilton.</p><p>‘I’ll read as you write,’ he replies, leaning down so his face is almost level with Hamilton’s, bracing his left hand on the desk. The boy smells of ink and coffee – an intoxicating mix. ‘I trust that the rest is up to your usual exceptional standard.’</p><p>He hears the hitch in Hamilton’s breathing at the praise and he is sure he can detect the beginnings of a smile playing around the boy’s perfect mouth. But Hamilton keeps pace, the flourish and bob of his quill never faltering in its smooth, hypnotic rhythm.</p><p>‘Very good,’ says Washington, his voice low and rough. ‘This will do nicely.’</p><p>‘Thank you, sir.’</p><p>Hamilton’s voice is steady but Washington notices the tips of his ears have reddened. A slight stutter in the movement of the quill. A signal at last that Washington is not wrong.</p><p>‘Perhaps we should leave it there for tonight?’ he says, covering Hamilton’s right hand with his own, extracting the quill with a considered gentleness and setting it to the side, careful not to blot ink on clothing or paperwork.</p><p>‘Yes, sir,’ says Hamilton. His hand, now bereft of its habitual writing implement, is still curled on the foolscap he had been writing on. He bows his head in a show of reticence that might have thrown Washington on another night. There has never been a situation of which Washington is aware into which Hamilton has not just marched with no regard for the consequences. Normally, the boy does his thinking later.</p><p>But from this position, Washington is at liberty to observe the flush creeping up the back of the boy’s neck and sense the quickening of his breathing as Washington hovers over him. He allows his own breath to ghost over the nape of Hamilton’s neck, thrilling at the sight of the goose pimples that appear there almost instantly.</p><p>So, this is a <em>game</em> then? Hamilton’s reserve is nothing more than a carefully crafted veneer designed to drive Washington to distraction. Designed to <em>push</em> Washington until he cracks and allows the all-consuming hunger to take over. Well, then…</p><p>‘I think I may retire,’ says Washington, standing upright now, removing himself from Hamilton’s space. He stretches in a display of tiredness, adding in a yawn for good effect. He sees Hamilton bristle at the sudden distance between them – at the sudden change in atmosphere in the room. Wrong-footed. ‘Thank you for your efforts today.’</p><p>He injects a finality into his tone intended to fuel the fire of confusion already kindling in the boy’s face. And oh, the thrill when he sees the impatience finally bubble over. Hamilton turns at last to face him, his eyes ablaze.</p><p>‘There’s nothing else, sir?’</p><p>‘What else could there possibly be? We have finished the urgent work for today. The rest will keep until morning. Unless…’</p><p>Washington lets the word hang in the air for endless moments, allowing Hamilton to interpret, analyse and translate in a thousand different ways. He waits until it settles into place, Hamilton involuntarily conveying his comprehension with an expectant lick of his lips. Washington waits a moment longer, waiting for the heat to truly build, before he yanks Hamilton to his feet.</p><p>‘Sir?’ Hamilton breathes, but makes no motion to shake loose from Washington’s grip. ‘What are you doing?’</p><p>But Washington can read the truth in the darkening of his eyes – the game is still afoot.</p><p>‘Tell me if I’m wrong,’ he growls before dipping low his head low to press a messy kiss against the boy’s mouth. It is not graceful or beautiful, but he had not expected it to be. They are soldiers and fighters first and foremost – neither of them with enough restraint to pare back what has finally been unleashed.</p><p>He pulls Hamilton to him, allowing tenderness to creep in now that his initial craving has been sated. The boy weakens in his arms, restless and helpless all at once.</p><p>‘Come here,’ murmurs Washington, his mouth against the shell of Hamilton’s ear. He guides them both to the armchair in front of the fire, tugging Hamilton down into his lap.</p><p>It is a strange juxtaposition to have a needy, unsettled Hamilton curled against him. The recent taciturn manner of his chief of staff has been replaced by a transparency that defies all comprehension. And Washington relishes it. Every soft moan, every plea that escapes from Hamilton’s lips is cherished and answered in kind.</p><p>The push and pull between them is mesmerising and restorative. Washington feels as if they have been out of step with one another for so long, but now there is no doubt that their ambitions have been the same all along. As Hamilton moves against him, his hands engaged in a reverent exploration of Washington’s upper body, he has never felt more truly at home. Grounded by Hamilton’s weight pressing him into the plush fabric of his armchair, savouring the comfortable heat of the waning fire, Washington wonders how he has lived until now without such essential pleasure.</p><p>He cups a broad hand around his boy’s skull, guiding Hamilton into a deep, unrelenting kiss. He is dizzy with the possibilities laid out before him, but for now he is content to distract himself with the prize has won at the end of their tiresome charade. It is messy and full of a demanding urgency that leaves him breathless. But for them, there would have been no other way.</p>
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